Northern fiber stops & an FO
One thing leads to another

Grandfather rocks

One of the reasons I get on so well with many of DH's relatives is because of things like "grandfather rocks."  His cousin Chris and her husband, Don, built a house about 10 years ago on a parcel that was once part of the family farm.  Whose family farm? His family? Hers?  Both!

Research has shown that DH & Chris's grandparents bought and worked a farm that was once owned by Don's grandparents.  They did not know that when they purchased the property (here is where the genealogical spark becomes a flame) and have since made a wonderful commemorative with pictures and dates.  As facts became clear, stories began to unfold and Don and Chris learned that both of their dads had been put to work, by their respective fathers, piling up rocks that surfaced in fields as the land was worked.  These piles of rocks dot the farm property to this day and are affectionately known as The Grandfather Rocks.  Chris has used many of them to border flower beds, walkways and other landscaping features -- and there are neat, ready piles of material for as many more as she could ever want.

DH's grandparents named the farm using a combination of their given names -- a name that they'd be proud to see is still in use today -- and a road that borders the farm is named the same.  Various old painted wood signs from around the farm have been rescued over the years and are proudly displayed by family members, and highly coveted by others.  I'll admit it -- me -- it's mostly me -- I covet the signs, especially the one that shaped like a shield.  I'm not even really family, just married-in.  Makes no difference.

Truth be told, I covet the rocks, too.  Mostly, though, it makes my heart sing that lowly piles of rocks and painted wood signs can command and hold such reverence, that all the things they represent still do, too, after all these years.  I think it's a little like this family's "Midas touch."  It's corny.  I know.



Not corny at all. I still have a piece of harness with my grandfather's last name on it. He used to race ponies.


I don't think it's corny, either! What a wonderful way to keep your family history alive.


Corny works for me, hon.


I think it is fantastic that you know so much about your family, married or otherwise, and that you still have such strong roots there. That is wonderful!

kathy b

I would want one of those wood signs too!

I am heading to minocqua area. Anywhere between rhinelander and michigan Im game for as far as a new yarn store find. :)


What a great heritage! How about you covet your family's stuff, and I'll covet your family! Yeah, that's it...I missed your gorgeous socks yesterday, the rock too btw! Hope you have a wonderful trip!


Call me you cornball you. I'm home.


I'd say if that's corny, butter me up and lay on the salt sister!


Love it.

Dixie Grilley, Yellow Dog

Hey, I used to have to "pick rocks" too! My Dad drove the tractor with a flat bed wagon behind it and all us kids had to follow behind and pick up the rocks and put them on the wagon. Could be dangerous because if the rock was small enough we would just fling it! I saved wood from our barn and I have it on my wall like art. I am so glad I did because the barn was hit by a tornado several years ago and is gone.


It's so not corny. Family...memories...good times and bad that's what its all about. I still cherish my MaBell transformer glass top bookends 'cuz my Grandpa made them...or the plastic crochet hook my Grandma gave me when she taught me how. Family is everything. :)

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